


Ten Minutes Ago/The Next Ten Minutes

by Anonymississippi



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Astra and Winn, BROADWAY crack, Lucy ships it, Multi, Supercrew, That's right, This is crack, i did it, karaoke bar, so that means this could maybe happen, the crackiest of crack, there are multiple universes in Supergirl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara loves karaoke, and so she takes the Supergang out on the town. Winn and Astra form an unlikely connection with a musical theater duet.</p>
<p>Cat knows Kara is Supergirl. Astra is not dead. Lucy ships anything that breathes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes Ago/The Next Ten Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Not only did The Flash ASTOUND on Monday night's Supergirl, but they also had yet another Tony-award winning actress guest star on the show. And I just. I. adljfadlkfjaldjalghd.... XD XD XD I can't get over all the theater people.
> 
> This slapdash, poorly edited, mess of meta-crack is from that, and too much time spent listening to 54 Below sessions. I don't like the ending, but I really just wanted to write the duet scene. If you weren't aware... this is 4k+ words of insanity.

Kara loves karaoke.

This is a fact of life, sure as the sky is blue and the grass is green and Kryptonians have x-ray vision, Kara Zor-El Danvers LOVES singing in dimly lit clubs with strangers, occasionally off-key and out of tempo, swaying like a ditz up on a poorly painted plywood station with any number of dipping sauces and beer stains splattered on the rough wooden grain on that hallowed piece of stage.

So when the war passes, Astra concedes, and they finally convince Hank to get out on the town for once in his 300 years, she and the game-night Supercrew go to the karaoke bar.

And it’s fun, amazing fun… one might even call it SUPER fun, because she and a tipsy Alex duet to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Hank scowls, arms crossed over his black Polo-clad chest, as he watches Alex take yet another unnecessary shot knowing she has agility drills at 0600. Then it’s James and (believe it or not) Cat Queen-of-All-Media Grant, going back and forth on Cher and Sonny’s “The Beat Goes On”; an odd selection—but one that the pair kills, judging by the rousing round of applause from the drunken patrons. Hank ASTOUNDS with D’Arby’s “Wishing Well,” a number Kara didn’t even know existed, let alone that her pseudo-Martian father would dare perform with any degree of stage-presence. But he emerges with a number of drunken middle-aged women flocking toward him; thankfully, Cat clears the crowds with a sneer, and Kara and Alex don’t have to worry about a potential addition to their alien family for a good long time later. Lucy Lane does an obscene rendition of Genuwine’s “Pony,” leaving Kara tingly in places she most certainly did not intend to feel tingly in when going out for innocent karaoke with friends.

Which just left Winn, a really good singer, Kara knows, from previous evenings out—and her murderous aunt-turned-informant-slash-DEO-officer. Now that all the big explosions and crumbling bits of rubble have been cleared from the battle field, Astra has mellowed significantly, bunking with Kara until the DEO officially releases her from Kryptonian house-arrest.

“Okay, you two are the last up!” James slams Winn over the back, making the shorter man sputter and cough over his beer.

“Only question is… duet, or solo numbers?!” Lucy prompts, having had more alcohol than a liver in such a petite person should ever process. If Lucy keeps up at this pace, she’ll be able to match Cat Grant’s tolerance.

“I fear I do not know many of your popular songs on Earth,” Astra confesses, staring down the fried leftover crusts of cheese-sticks and paper napkins as if they have personally offended her. “Perhaps I should allow another to take this turn.”

“Winn!?!” Kara squeals.

“You know this system doesn’t have any of my go-tos, Kara,” Winn complains. “Which is why I like the place over on 42nd Street so much more. There’s one decent Motown number, Sid knows like, a few songs I’ve done before…”

“Come on Winn!” Kara encourages.

Winn takes another swig of beer. “Well, there’s a couple of musical theater duets I could manage with a partner, but—”

“Musical theater?” Astra perks up, cocking her head to the side curiously. “These are the narratives played onstage, with the synchronized drills and the anthems sung, are they not?”

“Synchronized drills?” Cat arches a critical brow. “You mean staged _choreography_ , General?”

“The players move as one. It is no different than formation drills,” Astra asserts, taking a sip of her water.

“Well, uh, do you want to see what they have on the list?” Winn offers, nodding toward the selection on the machine. “If you threaten him, Sid might play for us.”

“If we are to endure ridicule for not participating, I suppose we must,” Astra concedes, standing with more composure than anyone at a sleezy karaoke joint in midtown should have.

“Oh my god, they’re gonna tank!” James wails, leaning back in his seat with a hearty chuckle.

“Does Astra even know what she’s doing, Kara?” Alex asks. “I mean, she’s seen us, but the whole getting-jiggy-with-it doesn’t seem like the General’s game plan, you know?”

“Astra’s kind of an amazing singer, guys,” Kara says. “Back on Krypton, anyway. Like… won awards for it. I don’t know why that would change here. And she’s been watching all these bootleg musicals on YouTube to get more acquainted with human culture.”

“Why isn’t she just watching television?” Cat sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Because she says there are too many aliens and ghosts and vampires and period pieces, things that aren’t actually current, human interactions on T.V.,” Kara explains. “She can’t seem to get into any of the shows—well, she liked that one about country music; but at least the musicals she watches have humans in them.”

“Maybe she just likes a song and dance. Let her have her fun,” Lucy says.

“Yes. I was quite fascinated with stage performance when I first integrated with your society,” Hank offers. “Shakespearean narrative, specifically. The play structures were remarkably similar to those we had on Mars.”

“He means the penis jokes,” Lucy snickers.

“Wait, this is yet another alien with whom I choose to associate?” Cat zeroes in on Hank’s throwaway comment like a missile with a heat sensor. “Has the Daily Planet scooped you up for an exclusive, Mr. Martian? If we could get a side-by-side still with Matt Damon, it would be priceless.”

“Sssh, Ms. Grant, they’re going up,” Kara says, turning her attention to her aunt and best friend on the stage.

“Uh, h-hey everybody,” Winn smiles hesitantly, grabbing the cheap, plastic microphone from the wobbly stand. “We’re not doing your traditional rock ballad or anything, but Sid behind the bar said he’d get on the keyboard and help us throw something together.”

Kara watches as Astra indicates a chord progression near the electronic keyboard, then encourages Sid the barkeep to pull up something on his phone.

“This is, uh, Astra, and it’s her first time up here,” Winn continues, and the pair get a half-hearted cheer from two lone souls in the back. “So go easy on us. We’re here with friends, and we’ve got to pay the tab if we don’t sing… here goes nothing!”

The lights on the blueish disco ball spin disorderly and sporadic, but Kara distinctly watches as her aunt (dressed in a plain sun dress of Kara’s and an overlarge maroon cardigan for maximum disguise factor) takes Winn’s hand in her own, and stares at him with the most vulnerable, apprehensive expression Kara has seen her display since her breakdown prior to her arrest on Krypton.

It’s both disorienting and engaging, and Kara can’t help herself from leaning forward, as do the rest of her festive and inebriated boothmates. When the piano begins trilling, Astra slides through the blue beams, so obviously inhuman and ethereal Kara wonders at audience’s opinions of her.

Suddenly, the lights shift, and Winn… _changes_.

He stands straighter, holds the mic like it’s an extension of himself, looks at Astra like he hasn’t cowered in her presence numerous times before. He faces the speckled bright bulbs in front of him like he’s never been anywhere else—as if holding Astra with one hand and the mic in the other on that tiny stage is all Winn needs to do to become some sort of super hero himself.

Kara hears the first few chords, and she’s already smiling.

“ _Ten minutes ago, I saw you, I looked up when you came through the door_ ,” Astra begins, flicking bright grey-green eyes through fluttering lashes and focusing all of her attention on Winn. Astra looks unbelievably young, and it’s strange to think that this woman was the same age as Kara’s _mother_.

“ _My head started reeling, you gave me the feeling the room had no ceiling or floor_.”

“Oh, damn,” Cat whispers, and it’s only because of Kara’s Kryptonian ears that she even hears the swear at her elbow in the first place.

“Ms. Grant?” Kara asks gently.

“Carter used to stand on my feet and we’d dance to this,” she mumbles, enraptured by cardigan hobbit and homicidal general. “Rodgers and Hammerstein blow that _Jekyll_ score out of the water every time.”

The key changes, less cheerful, a minor chord, and the hope in Astra’s face turns wistful as she looks at Winn, whose turn it is for the new lyrics. A mash-up: “ _Will you share your life with me? For the next ten minutes, for the next ten minutes: we could handle that_.”

“Oh, hell.”

Alex this time, her eyes squinting together, annoyed. Alex is a little tipsy, which explains the red-rimmed eyes, but it certainly doesn’t explain all the moisture collected in the corners, like her tear ducts are revolting against her.

“Alex? Are you okay?”

“This is the most depressing movie I ever watched… musicals aren’t supposed to be that sad, I thought,” Alex mutters, looking forlornly at her beer. “Netflix tricked me, Kara.”

Astra picks up on the bridge of the second song, the melancholy one, the one that, despite the fact that she and Winn are singing about a happy ending, Kara just knows there’s no happy ending in sight:

“ _I want to be your wife. I want to bear your child. I want to die knowing I lived a long, full life in your arms. That I can do, forever, with you.”_

Winn steps closer to Astra and drops her hand from his own, slides it up her arm and smiles so sweetly, seems to sing only to her on that tiny stage, the world falling away between the pair of them. They look good together, strangely so, suited and equal even though Kara knows they are neither. Kara thinks she should be feeling… not _good_ about the whole performance, but there’s something so genuinely convincing about it, she feels as though Winn and Astra have known each other for years. The hitches in their voices border on a sincerity that reminds Kara of… _wow_ … love.

Winn reverts back to the happier chords, back to the strains of hope:

“ _I have found her, she’s an angel, with the dust of the stars in her eyes_.”

Ouch. Those lyrics hit home, and Kara can see the reflection of conviction in her aunt’s open, devastatingly haunted expression.

Kara’s heart shreds, right there, with the blue disco lights swirling, amidst the half-eaten leftovers of cold quesadilla shells and chicken tenders; it bleeds and drips over the sides of the grimy bar table like beer in a sloshed stein, liquid frothing and foaming as the gutted ventricle oozes over the edge and plops in a little waterfall by her shoe.

They’re just performing but her heart _hurts_ because of it.

The entire table is lost—completely swept up in whatever illusion Winn and Astra are creating. It’s not performance, but experience, emoting to a degree that it makes Kara vastly uncomfortable and yet… she never wants to look away. She wants to keep watching them gazing at and singing to each other, with Winn’s hand on Astra’s cheek and Astra smiling demurely, an adjective Kara has never once attributed to her aunt before. Astra’s arm wraps around Winn’s waist, and even Winn seems thrown for a moment, but he doesn’t falter when Astra begins singing with him.

“ _We are dancing, we are flying, and she’s taking me up to the skies!”_

Kara stares, flabbergasted and beyond impressed (and it takes a lot to impress her; she can dead lift a Boeing on an off day). But even Supergirl doesn’t know if she’d ever be able to hold a man and a perfectly pitched note and take them both as high as Astra does, with nothing but exemplary control and grace.

Winn beams, ecstatic and elated and still totally in-character, because he’s pretending to be in love, singing about it—and finally getting the thrill of a lifetime, compounded by the daze of having such a capable partner. The crowd in the bar (thankfully drunk beyond comprehension) erupts into disbelieving cheers as the pair hover near the ceiling, singing their hearts out. Astra supports Winn’s spine and he takes charge of the mic, holds it close to Astra’s lips, the crackle of feedback feeble against such a powerful tenor and soprano; the positioning forces their faces close, closer, and they look like they’re sharing something far more precious than a song, floating like siren sprites in the treacherous air above the stage. Kara can see the tight stretch of baby-blue fabric over the muscles of Winn’s shoulders as Astra’s slender, deadly fingers grip tighter against his shirt.

“ _In the arms of my love I am flying, over mountain and meadow and glen—”_

Kara had never taken him flying before. It’s different when she saves strangers, but when she willingly grabs hold of someone’s torso and pulls them close, flush, in such proximity that they share breath, it’s like she’s revealing an intense secret she’s kept her whole life long. There’s so much trust implicit in flight, so much understanding between two people, that Kara finds it rather difficult to believe that Astra would share that knowledge with Winn—of all the humans in the world, she chose _Winn_?

“ _And I like it so well that for all I can tell I might never come down again._ ”

Astra whirls them around and a dude two tables over faints, takes a straight-up nose dive toward the floor. People pull out their phones and start taking pictures, and Kara notices Hank stiffen, the corners of his lips pulled so far down he looks like a depressed Bloodhound. He doesn’t have nearly as much control over Astra as he’d like to think he does; but when it’s harmless fun, with someone as inherently _usual_ as Winn floating around, Kara thinks he’ll let Astra slide on the powers-restrictions, just this once.

Meanwhile, Sid the barman is putting Jerry Lee Lewis to shame with all the ornamental flourishes he adds to the song, following along with the prompted musical cues on that poorly lit smart phone. As the music slows, Winn and Astra move their foreheads together, and though they still sing out in that strangely flawless fashion, the final lyrics feel as soft as a whisper.

“ _I might never come down, to Earth again._ ”

Astra floats them lower until their feet settle on the hardwood, the entirety of the bar rushing the stage with smartphones out to document the miracle, well-wishes and back claps and multiple offers of drink-buying for the night’s best performers.

Kara sits paralyzed in her seat, as does the majority of the Supercrew.

“Woah,” James says. “That was… definitely not a tank.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “A hundred and ten percent.”

“Very moving,” Hank nods. "Though hardly discreet."

"If you're that worried, I can run a headline about a surprise Cirque du Soleil performance. Even with photographic evidence, we've got them covered," Cat offers.

"What ever happened to journalistic integrity?"

“Hush, James. Kiera, what does my stock look like with that production team in Chicago?” Cat asks.

“I don’t know off the top of my head, Ms. Grant. I’d have to check your files.”

“See what we can do about signing Witt and your psychotic Aunt to a company.”

“Shouldn’t we ask them first?” Kara asks. “Winn’s already got a job.”

“He can be easily fired, Kiera.”

Because as great as it all went, Winn and Astra look exceedingly uncomfortable in the sea of attention. Kara wagers that, like everyone there, they just got wrapped up in the moment. And now, they’re paying the price for harmony so pure it could function as a tuning standard for orchestras.

“They have no say in it now,” Lucy announces. “I want them to get married and have singing babies.”

“Lucy!” Kara says. “You can’t be serious!”

“Did you _hear_ them Kara? They. Are. Seraphim. And they need to kiss. KISS!!!!!!!!” Lucy wails, standing from her position and cupping her hands over her lips. She begins the chant: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Lucy, sit down,” Kara admonishes, tapping Lucy on the shoulder with enough force that it makes her sprawl back down in the booth.

Too late, the rest of the bar picks up the chorus.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Winn looks like a poor fawn about to get sideswiped by a MAC truck, but Kara can’t read Astra. Off the stage she retains stoic composure, falls out of a role as easily as she falls into it. But the chanting grates on Astra’s sensitive alien hearing, Kara thinks, because it’s starting to bother her as well.

Kara knows the kiss is coming before anyone else in the group does, before anyone else in the bar does, even before Winn himself. Because with her senses, she can hear everything from the crunch of a peanut shell under a squeaky loafer to the brush of denim fibers against a callous on a hand; she can feel the static building between the copper chords in the microphones and can taste the edge of salt that seems to saturate the air of every bar in the city.

So that means she can see her Aunt’s face shift to concession, the quick flick of tongue over her lips that no one else notices.

Kara tries to look away in time but no, she sees it, Astra taking firm hold of Winn’s cleft chin and mashing their mouths together as the onlookers throw their hands and beers in the air, hooting and hollering and wailing raucously. A shower of liquors rains over the bar, and Cat screeches like an _actual_ cat when something wet and warm hits the sleeve of her tailored blazer. While the revelers are high on their feelings and catharsis, Kara notices Astra tug Win down and through the swaying mass of bodies, dropping his hand immediately once they get past the worst of the crowd.

“This tab has been covered,” Astra announces to the table, wiping her lower lip discreetly. Her speaking voice is so much lower than her performance register. Kara hasn’t heard her aunt sing for real in over a decade, but it’s a strange detail to pick up on. “By that human—” Astra indicates a woman sobbing over a martini glass, clutching the sleeve of a worried-looking man in a business suit. “—and those humans—” Then it’s a bunch of dudes with their arms hanging over the others’ shoulders, swaying back and forth, mimicking Astra and Winn’s improvised, airborne choreography. “—and Sid indicated that he would cover mine and Mr. Schott’s bills.”

“Can you two get married?” Lucy squeals, physically and drunkenly unable to contain herself.

Kara watches as Winn and Astra both screw up their faces, throw embarrassed looks at each other, and then… _blush?_

Holy Rao.

“That is highly unlikely,” Astra comments.

“Do you have an agent, Witt?” Cat asks, tapping away on her smart phone.

“Uh… no Ms. Grant. But I’m not looking for one.”

“You are now.”

Winn attempts to object again, but Cat just holds up a pointer finger and tuts her displeasure. “No arguing, Witt.”

“I don’t know how I changed careers and got engaged to a military commander all in the span of ten minutes,” Winn mumbles.

“You could do much worse, human,” Kara hears Astra mumble.

“And made out with an alien,” Alex snickers for the table’s benefit. “Can’t forget that part.”

“Uh, yeah… ha,” Winn grins uncertainly, turning his attention back to Astra. “That was really great. The song, and the—” he waves his hand up toward the sky, back to the fidgety Winn that’s much easier for Kara to reconcile. Confident Winn is foreign and, _oh the irony_ , alien to her. “You’re uh… thanks for the flying thing. I’ve wanted to do that forever.”

“Kara has not flown with you?” Astra inquires, and Kara doesn’t like the judgmental glare her aunt throws her way.

“No it’s… I’d never want to put her out like that. She’s got important stuff to do.”

“She should be more accommodating, given her exceptionality,” Astra says.

“I can’t go flying every human around just because they want to!” Kara objects. Which is true. It could blow her cover, draw unnecessary attention to her.

“Winn is your friend, Kara,” Astra says, seeming more confused than angry. “There is little harm if you take care.”

“I disagree,” Hank says, standing. “She’s got a reputation and a cover to maintain. Supergirl might have a secret identity, but Winn Schott, Jr., doesn’t. People would start asking questions.”

“You overestimate human intelligence,” Astra scoffs.

“HEY!!!” a select portion of the table yells, and the evening course corrects itself back to normalcy.

Half an hour later, Kara is double-checking the curbside car service for Ms. Grant outside of the bar as James offers to walk a three-sheets-windward Lucy back home; Hank and Alex wave goodbye as they load up into one of the DEO vehicles. Astra and Winn linger at the bar entrance, Astra waiting on Kara to finish up with Cat while Winn calls for his own taxi. Kara tries really hard to tone down the eavesdropping, but Winn’s got his nervous face on, his hands shoved so deep in his pockets Kara wonders if his fingers are going to poke through the fabric.

“So, uh… General… uh, Ms. In-ze, uhm…”

“Do you have a problem recalling who I am?” Astra asks Winn. “You seemed to remember those lyrics quite well. Have you suffered a head injury?”

“No, I was just, heh… wondering what I should call you? We haven’t talked much on our own and it feels kinda weird after…” Kara sees Winn flap his arm back in the direction of the bar. “…after all that.”

“All that?”

“When we sang, I mean. I… liked that a lot.”

“It was quite enjoyable. And my name is Astra In-ze. I no longer hold the title of General. Astra will suffice.”

“Okay,” Winn smiles, takes a deep breath, and faces a confused-looking Kryptonian. “Astra, would you want to uhm… get a drink sometime?”

Kara nearly puts a dent in the arch of the car service’s door. Cat sighs pointedly before her, knowing her assistant's attention is split. But Ms. Grant is just scrolling through her schedule on her phone, talking about international teleconferences worth millions of dollars… but thirty feet away _her best friend is asking her aunt out_ , so Kara feels like some divided attention is warranted.

“I am not often thirsty,” Astra answers.

Ouch, Kara thinks. Winn’s two-for-two on Kryptonian rejections.

“Oh, alright,” Winn’s smile falters, and he takes a step away from Astra. “Just… thought I’d ask. It was nice singing with you, Astra.”

“You are the one who defeated the information drone, are you not?” Astra reaches out, redirects Winn’s attention by placing her hand on his forearm.

“The information drone?” Winn asks. “Oh, you mean Indigo?”

“That menace,” Astra sneers. “She… meddled when she was not wanted. Inserted herself into my plans.”

Oh… no.

Oh, _right_.

Those plans being Astra’s idea for taking over the world… and also her husband. Non. Indigo had totally hit that when he and Astra were still married. Too bad Kara dropped a concrete block on top of him during the final battle… but Astra didn’t seem overly distraught with him out of the picture.

“I can’t say I’m sorry you didn’t succeed,” Winn admits. “I like not being forced to submit to an alien overlord, you know… no matter how pretty she is.”

Kara feels like her eye roll is audible. This must be what Cat feels like when she watches any of them flirting at the office.

_Smooth, Schott._

“You’re flattering me,” Astra steps forward, curls her fingers over Winn’s bicep and steers him back into the wall. He thuds against the brick and Kara can’t stop staring. It’s blatant now, but Cat’s abandoned her lecture on tomorrow’s schedule, peeking right along with her.

“How’s he doing?” Cat whispers to her.

“Not great,” Kara relays, motioning toward Cat to stay down.

“Why?” Astra asks Winn, hissing through her teeth.

“Because you sing great and smell nice and kinda scare me but you let me fly and it’s true?” Winn’s voice cracks a little. “You’re really pretty.”

“I do not understand. You are simply stating the obvious.”

“If I state the obvious enough will you have a drink with me?”

Kara wants to bash her head against the trunk of the car. She is Kara Danvers, clueless beyond reason, but even she could do better than this.

“I told you I do not—oh,” Astra releases Winn’s arm and regards him carefully, allows her soldier’s eyes to run over him from foot to skull. “You are making personal advances.”

“Uhm… yes? Kinda poor execution, I guess,” Winn says, still propped up against the wall.

“I am a master of strategy… I can help with… execution,” Astra returns, and Kara and Cat hold their breaths.

“Does that mean you’ll let me fly again?” Winn asks.

“Only if you sing with me again, Winn,” Astra answers.

“Ohmygod,” Kara murmurs.

“What?”

“She took him up on it,” Kara whispers.

“You’re kidding,” Cat snaps.

“I know this place,” Winn says to Astra. “Stays open even later. They’ve got karaoke, too.”

“Now what’s happening?!” Cat badgers Kara.

“I’ll tell you if you keep quiet!” Kara hushes her boss.

“I’m required to…” Astra cuts her eyes toward Kara and Cat. They’re caught with Kryptonian supersight, rather obviously; so Kara waves back awkwardly, until Ms. Grant snatches her hand out of the air and grumbles, displeased with Kara's acknowledgement of their spying.

“Really, Kara, Winn didn’t know we were listening,” Ms. Grant says, ducking her head into the backseat of the sleek black town car. “At least Cardigan-boy wasn’t intimidated by someone more… experienced than him.”

Kara turns, about to object to a comment that might not have even been directed at her, but then—

“…ten minutes to out-fly my niece?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Lovely,” Astra says, stepping rigidly forward and placing a quick kiss to Winn’s cheek. “Oh, Little One,” Kara hears, quite a blatant call toward her person. “If you’re done listening to our conversation?”

Astra smirks devilishly, then takes straight off into the night.

Now Kara’s got an alien to chase, but her heart’s not really in it. She’d rather let Astra have her fun, especially if other people get to hear her sing like that.

“Goodnight, Ms. Grant,” Kara sighs, figuring she should at least make an attempt at pursuit, just so she can say she tried when Hank brings the hammer down in the morning.

“I’ll see you at 8:30,” Cat replies.

It’s only when Kara’s halfway home that she recalls that Ms. Grant called her by her proper name. It shouldn’t make her sleep fitfully, shouldn’t make her wonder about that off-hand comment Ms. Grant made at the end of the night about Winn taking his chance with Astra. But Kara thinks about unlikely pairings sounding really good together, and resolves that if Winn Schott, Jr. has a chance in hell with a Kryptonian General, then Supergirl surely has a shot with a media Queen.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lucy is me. I am Lucy. Ship all the ships, especially if they sing.


End file.
